Flawed Logic
by Vir M
Summary: The one shot has been expanded! Now a twoshot parody! Dedicated to all the [House has a long lost daughter who comes to live with him and makes our favourite pessimist become a bloody SAINT] writers. Notice that horror is one of the genres listed...
1. Chapter 1

**FLAWED LOGIC**

_By Vir M.

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I was jolted out of my meds-induced sleep by a knock. 

When I answered the door mid-rap, a 16-year-old blonde flashed me a candy-coated smile.

"Hi," she said. "Are you Greg House? If so, I'm your father's brother's step-dad's daughter's adopted prodigy child. Can I stay here?"

I promptly shut the door in her face. She promptly resumed her knocking.

I smashed my face up against the peep hole.

She was still there.

She was still smiling.

"I don't want any!" I shouted. She rolled her eyes and said nothing, knuckles cracking steadily.

I stared at the door, ache growing in my temples, willing the person on the other side to leave. After about twenty seconds, I threw the door open.

"What?" I snapped. She smiled again, her face as bright as a 60-watt bulb.

"I'm your father's brother's step-dad's daughter's adoptive prodigy child. Can I—"

"Why don't you just say 'your uncle's step-sister's adopted kid?'" I asked her. Her smile dimmed a watt or two. "Oh, but what am I saying? Even if you DID say that, we STILL wouldn't be related, now would we?" Her grin deflated like a punctured balloon, and I was about to slam the door when I noticed that her shoes were muddy.

"AND GET OFF MY DOOR MAT, YOU MOOCHER!"

With that said, I shut the door in her face a second time, popped a Vicodin, and went back to my nap.

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**

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Dedicated to all you _"House has a daughter/son/neice/nephew/long-lost-relative who comes to live with him and makes him see the GOOD in the world"_ writers. **

**Not that there's anything _wrong_ with that scenario...**

**Notice that the genres I put this under are "parody" and "horror..."**

**"FLAWED LOGIC" (C) VIR M.**

**"HOUSE M.D."(C) FOX**


	2. Chapter 2

**So I said this would be a one shot… but I couldn't resist the temptation to expand it. This fic is now destined to become not a one shot, but a series of them. OH, THE HORROR!!! **

**Let's just say that House had a little lapse in judgment—okay, a big one. He let Sunshine not only cross the threshold, not only step foot inside his apartment, and not only invade the privacy of his child-free home—he let her sit on his couch. Let's pick up from right there… **

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The beaming blonde sat primly on my sofa, dainty hands in her lap and ankles crossed. 

I sat in my chair, twirling my cane in my hands, hunched almost completely over. Despite the fact that I was staring at Barbie with eyes filled with an expression more befitting a dead fish (or a patient who frequented coma-land), she continued to grin her 60-watt smile.

"So," she said in a voice much too high pitched and feminine to hear comfortably.

I stared at her some more. She didn't seem fazed.

"My name is Glorianna Lorraine Susannah Mayhew. I'm sixteen years old, a Virgo, and love puppies." She giggled a bit. I cringed.

"I'm so excited about getting to live with you," she gushed. Then her face darkened as she took a look around my apartment. "Though your place certainly does need a bit of a woman's touch, doesn't it."

"If you really think so, then go find me one. Real women seem to be in short supply." The line was a not-so-subtle barb directed at her maturity, with the purpose of showing her that I thought of her as a kid, not a woman. It backfired.

Her eyes—colored with an all too perfect sky blue—grew pained.

"Oh, poor Greg," she whispered. Before I knew what was happening, she had launched forward and thrown her arms around me. She smelled sickeningly of strawberry shampoo. "You're hurting inside, aren't you? You're sad that your massive ego has scared off everyone you've ever cared about." She pushed away from me and gave me a reassuring smile. "Don't worry about it anymore, Uncle; I understand. Glorianna's here to make it all better."

I gaped at her as she beamed at me. She took my silence as an admittance of her assumption and launched into another monologue.

"I can feel your pain, though mine was different and not brought upon myself due to the effects of a giant chip on the shoulder—my parents died when I was young and then I lived with a controlling psychotic aunt inflicted with cancer so I was never able to pursue my own life and instead had to live to please her and was forced to give up my dream of being on Broadway in order to care for her in her infirmity and—"

I couldn't take any more of this. I just couldn't. I threw her hands off me, lurched out of my chair, and bolted—well, tried to bolt; my limp made bolting difficult—to my bedroom. Then I slammed the door, locked it, and snatched the phone off my bedside table.

Foreman picked up only after two rings. Funny, I thought he would ignore me, and I'd be forced to call Cuddy. I was kind of looking forward to it. "House?"

"Where are you?"

"The clinic… why are you calling me on your day off?"

I laughed annoyingly, reveling in his freaked/exasperated/dejected tone. He was really good at sounding downtrodden, that Foreman. I would have to remember to do this more often, long-lost-relatives or no. "I know this day's special since you don't have to deal with your pain-crazed, maniac superior for a full twenty-four hours, but do you have to sound like you're talking to an IRS agent every time I call? And here I thought we were friends." I cackled at that last line. Friends? Me and Foreman? Preposterous.

He made the wise decision of not commenting.

I grinned into the receiver as Glorianna knocked on my door, plaintively calling: "Uncle Greg? What's the matter? We were bonding! You can't just walk out of a sweet, melodramatic, cliché-teen-movie moment! That's not ALLOWED!"

My grin widened, and I am sure that—for a moment, at least—I looked like the devil himself. I doubt my teen intruder would have been knocking so persistently had she been able to see the look plastered across my face.

Foreman interrupted my train of thought to ask with a sigh: "What do you need?"

"A straightjacket," I answered, and grinned the devil's own once more.

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**Glorianna: comes complete with tragic past and sunny smile! Order yours today!**

**HOUSE M.D. © FOX STUDIOS **

**FLAWED LOGIC © VIR M. **


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